


Ride with you upon the wind

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-21 16:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Jared’s been riding through the country for months now, unwilling to stop anywhere for more than a night. But when a thunderstorm forces him to accept shelter from a mysterious green-eyed man, he finds himself questioning his journey as well as wondering who Jensen really is.





	Ride with you upon the wind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ride with you upon the wind](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/431975) by Dancing_Adrift. 



> Thanks to [Amanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift/pseuds/Dancing_Adrift) for creating such wonderful art, being super easy to work with and being supportive when this went in a completely different direction to her initial ideas. Make sure you check out all the beautiful art she made for this and leave lots of lovely feedback.
> 
> Thanks as always to [Nisaki](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/) for being such a super beta reader and all-round supporter.
> 
> And thanks to the mods of SPN_Reverse for running such a great challenge. This is my second year doing it and it's been a delight. 
> 
> Title from a play by William Butler Yeats - full quote in the end notes.

 

The rain drills down, bouncing off the road in front of him. It crashes into his skin through his leather jacket and pants. His visor is almost opaque, as if he is looking onto the ocean, not a road in mid-Kentucky. Puddles are rapidly becoming small streams, reaching up his wheels with an insidious ooze.

From what little Jared can see, the dark, lowering clouds extend in every direction. He’s between towns, as far as he can remember, nothing but the empty road stretching out before him and behind him. This is what he wants, he reminds himself; it just seems a whole lot less escapist when tendrils of rainwater are snaking their way along his back.

He slows. There’s little shelter to be seen; he rapidly discards the idea of sheltering under one of the few trees near the road as lightning flickers in the distance. Morose, he drives on, casting his eyes from side to side as much as possible while keeping his eyes on the road surface.

Cresting over a small hill, he has to restrain himself from whooping with delight; there’s an old water tower up ahead, legs rising from the ground to hold a decrepit water tank. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t go near it, terrified it would fall on him, but right now, with the prospect of potentially an hour’s soaking drive to the next town and the first rumbles of thunder trickling in from the west, he’ll happily shelter under its concrete belly.

Jared sighs with relief once he’s out of the wet, wheeling his bike carefully through the last few puddles and kicking the prop stand out. The reprieve is immediate, and he shakes his hair out as he pulls the dripping helmet off his head.

The thunder intensifies, the storm nearing. Jared perches cross-legged on the edge of the concrete flooring, props his chin on his hands and stares out at the horizon, watching as each lightning strike gets closer.

This certainly hadn’t been what he’d intended when he’d started his journey, haphazard as his planning had been. Tired and burnt out, he’d dreamed of flat, sunlit valleys, the wind blowing over his leathers as he rode along rivers; or careening carefully around the side of a mountain, one eye on the panorama unfolding below him as he neared the clouds. Somehow, in his visions of this trip, there had never been anything more than a light, cooling rain, and certainly not this endless, infernal torrent that makes driving an intolerable hazard.

He shivers. There’s still water under his jacket, so he strips it off, hoping the chill wind will dry him before he gets too cold. He drapes the jacket over the concrete and settles back to watch the storm.

Something catches his eye and it takes time to understand what he's seeing. The umbrella appears first, a blue gleam cresting over the hill behind the water tower, coalescing into the green of a raincoat and the darkness of soggy jeans. The face underneath the umbrella is hidden, and Jared wonders, idly, whether the crazy person walking in torrential rain will even see him.

At that thought, the umbrella tips backward and Jared sees the blurred face of a youngish man, mouth moving, but any sound is covered by the loudest boom yet, lightning flickering down closer than ever.

“What?” he yells.

“Are you lost?” the figure asks.

“No, I’m good,” Jared shouts back, standing as close to the edge of his shelter as he can without getting more soaked.

“This rain isn’t going to stop; do you need some help finding shelter?”

“I’m fine,” Jared insists. He’d sworn, when he started this journey, that he would do it independently, that he wouldn’t take help from people, making his own way across the country. While he’s happy for motel clerks to point him in the direction of his room, this definitely qualifies as help.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” the guy says, eyes rolling even at a distance. “This storm’s here for the night, according to the weather reports. You might as well try and get somewhere warm and dry, no point in trying to wait it out. I can show you where to go.”

Jared’s shoulders slump. He’d been hoping against hope the clouds would blow over with the thunder. He bites his lip, considering.

“I can’t leave my bike.”

“It’ll be safe enough here. You’re probably the only person who’s come down this road in a week.”

Jared looks around. A new crackle of lightning strikes a few fields over, accelerating his decision-making process. Taking a breath, he wheels the bike further under the water tower, discarded leathers in hand, slipping inelegantly in the mud and skidding to a stop at the back of the water tower. He fixes the lock, grabs his pack and pats the seat, feeling fond. “I’ll be back soon,” he whispers, hoping the rain covers the sound so his helper doesn’t think he’s lost his mind.

Once the bike is secure, he hurries over to the guy, bracing himself for the rain thundering onto his shoulders.

“Ok,” he says. “You can show me where to go. But you’d better not be a crazy axe murderer.”

It’s only when Jared’s got his breath back that he has a chance to look at the man, and when he does, he almost loses his breath again. The guy is gorgeous: perfect, heart-stopping, Hollywood gorgeous. Bright, moss-green eyes are set in a freckled face that projects sunshine on this greyest of days; a perfect nose leads down to the lushest lips Jared has ever seen, and the hint of stubble surrounding his mouth is an alluring rose gold. All Jared’s neurons stop firing, or fire at once, he can’t tell; his brain loses contact with his mouth and ears and sound won’t go either in or out.

It takes him a moment to collect himself, to remember that while he’s been on the road for a few months, and has definitely been lacking in human company, he’s still a fully functioning adult who knows how to act like a decent person.

“Pardon?” he asks.

The guy chuckles. “I said, I’m Jensen and I promise I’m not an axe murderer. It would be lovely if you could provide similar assurance.”

“Oh.” Jared flushes. “Yeah. I’m Jared, also not an axe murderer. Thanks for stopping.”

The silence between them settles, slightly awkward, before Jensen extends his umbrella and Jared slips underneath.

“So,” Jensen begins slowly. “You know it’s a good hour’s drive to the nearest town, and it only has a tiny motel?”

Jared frowns. He does know and he’s trying not to think about it.

“And I wouldn’t let my worst enemy sleep in that motel, to be perfectly honest.”

Jared shudders. He’s slept in a couple of pretty rough motels so far; the novelty wore off pretty quickly.

“So this is going to sound a bit axe-murdery, but I’m a twenty-minute walk away, and I have a spare room. You’re more than welcome to stay the night; I’ll even give you tools so you can barricade yourself in.”

Jared stares. This definitely qualifies as help, and moreover, “It does sound a bit axe-murdery, to be honest,” he replies.

Jensen gives a self-deprecating laugh that creates little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Somehow, it’s enchanting.

“I’m nice, I promise. And I have a spare room with a lock on the door. And the motel was reported for breaking food hygiene rules but the owner is friends with the right people so…”

That’s enough to sway Jared. Food is sacred. More importantly, as he looks across the road, puddles are growing - potholes filling, becoming undetectable voids - water almost flowing like a small stream. Driving through this, along an unknown country road, in growing darkness with the threat of lightning strikes at any moment, would be insanity.

“Ok, but if you axe murder me I’m coming back to haunt you.”

They soon turn off the road into forest, trees gathering on either side. They’re walking down a side road that quickly turns into a path, the ground uneven and muddy enough Jared has to concentrate to keep his feet.

“Almost there,” Jensen says, eyes peeled on the path in front of them.

They walk for a few more minutes before pulling out into a clearing. There’s a big house looming in front of them, details blurred by the rain, and inky blackness beyond.

“Come on, let’s get inside.”

Jared holds tightly to his pack and follows Jensen into a dimly lit hallway.

“I’ll show you your room,” Jensen says, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s nice. It has a bathroom. I’ll have to find sheets. It’s nice, though. And it has a lock.”

Jared can’t help but smile, reassured by the fact that Jensen feels as awkward as he does. “I’m not fussy, don’t worry,” he says, breaking out the trusty, dimpled smile that always puts people at ease. Jensen stares before blinking and looking away.

Jared follows him into the depths of the house, past a kitchen and what looks like a enormous lounge.

“Here,” Jensen says, pushing open a door at the end of the hallway.

Massive picture windows are the highlight of the room, although all they look out onto is darkness. There’s a large bed, duvet piled neatly at the end, and a doorway into what must be the bathroom. Everything is simple and light, no clutter or personal effects marring the clean lines of the room.

“Look,” Jensen says, behind him. “A lock!” He flicks the key back and forth, showing Jared how the bolt slides in and out. This time, Jared’s grin is spontaneous, Jensen’s enthusiasm catching.

“Well, that’s your first promise kept,” he says lightly.

“Yes, it is.”

There’s another moment of silence.

“I’ll let you grab a shower,” Jensen suggests. “And feel free to come and find me in the kitchen; I’ll see if I have some food that can pass hygiene tests.”

Jared has to admit, that sounds like a perfect plan.

An hour later finds Jared perched on a bar stool in the kitchen, shovelling pasta into his face with the bare minimum of politeness. He’s warm and cozy after hours of shivering, and he’s got a beer in his hand. With every minute that passes, he’s more convinced this was the right decision.

Jensen’s nice, too. Maybe a little odd, but definitely nice.

“So what do you do, out here?”

“Oh, I… do many things. I freelance a bit, here and there.”

Its an equivocal answer and Jared doesn’t want to talk about work or careers, so he lets it go.

“What’s fun around here? Is there a lot going on in the town?” Jared’s recollection of the map is hazy, but he remembers the next town over as little more than a blip. Perhaps he’d read it wrong, though.

“No, I mostly stay up here. By myself. I like it here; there’s a lot of quiet.”

Jared looks through the kitchen to the lounge, where the back wall is entirely windows. “I’m guessing you’ve got a good view?”

“Beautiful,” Jensen says, smiling as he looks at Jared.

Conversation flows relatively easily between them, given their short acquaintance and all the things they’re both not saying. Jensen loves reading, Jared discovers, and they’re quickly involved in an animated discussion about classic horror and which of the many adaptations of Dracula is the best.

“I have some of them on DVD,” Jensen says, a slight flush highlighting his freckles, and that’s how Jared finds himself snuggled up in a worn but incredibly warm blanket, staring at Jensen’s huge television as Keanu Reeves and Winona Ryder give their take on the timeless classic.

“Have you ever heard the joke that he’s immortal?” Jared says at one point, laughing. “It’s an internet meme thingy.”

Jensen looks confused. “People think Keanu Reeves is some kind of immortal being?” he asks, voice a little stilted.

“Yeah, like a vampire, or something. Mostly a vampire.”

“As if,” Jensen says scornfully and turns back to the screen. They’re silent for a while after that, intent on the movie, but Jared’s sure he can feel eyes on him, like a feather tracing down his spine. Every time he looks though, Jensen’s watching with just as much concentration as Jared, so he tries his best to ignore it.

_Rain trickles down his spine, and he opens himself to it, becoming aware of each droplet around him, the water flowing through the air. He calls to it, talking to each drop, reaching up above them to their fellows, reaching higher and higher until he reaches the clouds. He can feel the anger, the sorrow of the sky, but also the way the rain connects to the earth, the joy of the plants around him as they drink their fill._

_Raising his arms, he calls to the clouds, calls to their fellows, beseeches them. Stay, he asks. Remain. Nourish the earth. Nourish my soul._

_The sky rumbles back at him, illuminated in a flash. It’s the best answer he’s going to get for now; he’s made his request and it’s been heard. Now he must wait, in vigil, for the morning._

Jared’s warm when he wakes, buried under thick, soft duvets that smell glorious, like sunshine and freshly-cut grass. There’s none of the funky, fusty smell he’s come to associate with motels, and he’s warmer than he has been on his trip so far. It takes him a while to process and place all the delightful sensations, before he remembers Jensen.

The room is filled with dull grey light, barely enough for Jared to see to the end of the bed. The curtains are pulled across the picture windows, still hiding the view, but a quick glance at his watch tells Jared it’s more than time for him to get up.

After he’s taken another moment to appreciate what will undoubtedly be the best bed he sleeps in during his journey, he stretches and pushes himself to his feet. Padding over to the windows, bare feet cool against the wood floor, he pulls the curtains back.

Jensen wasn’t lying about the beautiful view. In front of the house is a rocky little stream meandering across a wildflower-filled clearing before rushing downhill and emptying into a lake, the tree-lined shore fading off into the distance. The clearing is surrounded by the green of trees and bushes, edging down in waves to the waterfront, where Jared can see a dock and a small boat.

He can’t see much more, because the beauty of the view is almost entirely obscured by rain coming down harder than the day before, sheets of it splashing back up from the ground and dripping from the trees. Even now he’s opened the curtains, the features of the bedroom are barely visible, the sky outside a shade above black.

He rummages in his pack, wondering whether Jensen will let him do some laundry. He’s clearly not going anywhere today.

Jensen’s cooking breakfast when Jared makes it to the kitchen. The smell of bacon makes Jared’s mouth water, while the sight of a coffee machine slow-dripping liquid treasure makes his fingers twitch. “Morning,” he says, announcing his presence with a little awkwardness.

“Morning,” Jensen says, beaming smile breaking out slowly on his face. He’s so beautiful it’s breathtaking, short-circuiting Jared’s still-sleepy brain yet again. Jensen's smile falters when Jared doesn’t respond, and he curses internally once his brain kicks back into gear.

“That smells delicious,” he prompts, hoping to bring the smile back.

“Good,” Jensen says, with a slightly smaller grin. “I took a chance and made bacon, who doesn’t like bacon, right? I figured you would probably like bacon. Do you like bacon? I have other food if not. I actually have quite a lot of food, even if I don’t have visitors often. There’s, um... porridge…” Jensen opens the cupboard above him, staring with slightly startled sadness at the mostly-empty shelf.

“It’s fine,” Jared interjects, laughing. Jensen is utterly adorable when he’s flustered, and Jared’s pleased to know he’s not the only one finding this situation a little unusual. “I love bacon.”

That brings the smile back, and Jared watches, entranced, as Jensen continues to prepare breakfast, refusing all offers of help.

“I hardly ever have guests,” he insists. “Let me do this.”

So Jared settles back and watches as Jensen prepares a small feast, setting it all out neatly in front of Jared. Fried mushrooms and eggs nestle next to the bacon, with slices of tomato alongside; there’s a big bowl of fresh strawberries and raspberries in front of him and a mug of coffee steams gently while Jared waits. By the time Jensen settles next to him, Jared’s stomach is audibly rumbling.

“Eat,” Jensen insists, gesturing towards the food, and Jared is only too happy to tuck in.

Everything is delicious, and conversation is put on hold until Jared’s full. “I saw your lake,” he says eventually, as he’s mopping up the remains of his eggs. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Yes,” Jensen agrees. “I was lucky to find this spot. I’d been looking for a long time.” He looks wistful, even sad, and not for the first time Jared wonders what had caused Jensen to live such an isolated life. He’s about to start asking questions when it occurs to him that Jensen will likely want the same information in return; he’s not ready for that, so he clamps down on his curiosity.

“Well, you did good. I can’t imagine how beautiful it must be here in good weather.”

Jensen shifts in his seat. “ Well, you’re probably not going to see it like that today,” he says lightly. “I think the rain is forecast to continue all day.”

Jared’s heart sinks. Even though he’d known, logically, he probably wouldn’t be able to move far today, having Jensen confirm it is painful.

“Urgh,” he says. He’s about to offer to go into the town, to find the motel, anything to keep moving for a couple of hours, but Jensen offers him another coffee and another blinding smile and the thoughts fly from his head.

By lunchtime, Jared is restless. He tries not to show it, settled on the sofa in front of the big window with one of Jensen’s horror books as Jensen does some chores, but his foot is tapping and his fingers twitch on the page. His mind is racing, forcing him to read the same sentences over and over again to try to imprint them into his brain; eventually he puts the book down, looking out at the lake.

This is the first day he’s gone without riding since he left New York. His fingers itch for the handlebars, his body missing the thrum of the engine underneath him. He hadn’t expected, during the first few days, how physical riding would be, how it would leave his body tired and tingling at the end of each day. But he’d been grateful for it, grateful for the concentration required to drive and for the exhaustion chasing him as he drove into a new motel each evening. It had dulled his mind, clouded his thoughts enough for him to function.

But now, with only half a day riding the day before and nothing to do today, all the thoughts are flooding back in. Everything is there, tickling at the edges of his consciousness, waiting for the right moment to invade his waking brain. The book isn’t doing anything to offset it, and the view is making it worse; the contrast between his old, skyscraper life and the green, dripping beauty of Jensen’s land is too stark.

He stands abruptly, unable to bear the stillness any longer. He can hear Jensen puttering in the kitchen, clearing up the remains of breakfast and whatever else it is he does to fill his days in his isolated home.

Guilt and social awkwardness roar into Jared's consciousness as he hovers by the window. On top of everything bubbling under in his brain is the all too present awareness that he’s invading Jensen’s life, sitting in Jensen’s living room and disrupting Jensen’s daily routine. Jensen is incredibly polite, but he must want Jared gone. Even with the rain, Jared should make it safely to the town.

Decision made, Jared feels some of the nervous energy tingling under his skin settle down. He strides towards the kitchen, intending to ask Jensen for a lift.

Jensen’s at the kitchen work surface, surrounded by food in various states of preparation. He turns as Jared enters, head cocked to one side.

“Hey,” Jared starts. “I don’t want to be in your way anymore; I don’t want to put you out. If you take me back to my bike, I’ll head into town and get out of your hair.”

Jensen’s face falls, the light dimming from his eyes.

“Ok,” he says. “If you want.” He sounds genuinely sad. “But I’d just started lunch for us; I have all this food that needs to be eaten. And you’re not bothering me. Really. I’d love you to stay. I mean. I don’t want you to be in danger on the road. It’s still raining a lot. And the town sucks. It really, really sucks. And there’s all this food.”

He’s moved closer to Jared in his enthusiasm, coming around the kitchen island and stopping about a foot away. His eyes are huge and vividly green at this distance, imploring Jared with an intensity that’s far from simple politeness.

Jared can feel the restlessness still coursing through him, but at the same time, there’s what’s going to be a whole tableful of food shortly. He’s never been able to say no to good, home-cooked food; he’s had it rarely enough over the last few years. He can maybe get the bike later in the afternoon.

“Ok, I can stay for lunch. Maybe it will have stopped raining by then.”

Jensen frowns but doesn’t argue. He goes back to preparing their lunch, and not longer after, Jared finds himself sitting down in front of another incredible meal. He’s so full afterwards he can’t think of moving, and by the time he feels like he can undertake actual physical activity, the short, dark day is drawing to a close, clouds still clustered around them. Jared begrudgingly admits that he'll need another night of Jensen's hospitality, and Jensen seems thrilled when he asks to stay.

Later that evening, after Jared assures Jensen he couldn’t possibly eat another thing - well, maybe a small slice of fruit pie, maybe a slightly bigger one - Jensen places a bottle of red wine down on the table between them. Pouring, he smiles at Jared, the action almost ritualistic as he hands Jared a small, ornate glass.

“Please, drink,” Jensen insists, and Jared does. The wine trickles down his throat, thick, almost syrupy and far better than anything he’s ever tried before. He takes another sip, savouring it as he rolls it in his mouth, bursts of berries, cinnamon and vanilla dancing across his tongue; he almost spits it back out as he watches Jensen lick a ruby red drop from his pink lips. Jensen continues, oblivious to Jared’s distraction, gazing deep into his own glass with a pensive expression.

“Do you like it?” he asks Jared, almost anxiously.

“It’s the best I’ve ever tasted,” Jared replies, completely honest. “Where did you get it?”

A delicate flush spreads across Jensen’s cheeks, reflecting the red of the wine. “Oh,” he says. “It’s a local wine. You have to know the makers.”

Jared had no idea there were vineyards in Kentucky. Maybe he should spend more time exploring the countryside he roars through on his bike - but as he thinks it, he knows he won’t make the effort to stop.

They drink in companionable silence, Jared thinking it should be far more awkward than it is. He’s known Jensen for just over a full day, and yet somehow, he’s more comfortable here than he ever was back East.

“What’s it like,” Jensen asks abruptly, gaze deep in his glass, “riding your bike?” His eyes flick up to Jared’s, intent as if the answer is truly important.

“I…” Jared starts, and pauses, unsure. The question feels heavy, not only to Jensen, but to him. “It’s freeing.” He settles on the easy cliche.

Jensen cocks his head to one side, curious.

“No,” Jared amends, finding himself unable to reel off the list of cliches he’d given when he’d left New York. “No, that’s not quite it.”

“What is it?” Jensen asks softly, free of judgement, possibly the one person who’s asked Jared this who actually wants to know the answer.

“It’s escape,” Jared answers instead, eyes stinging at his own honesty. “It’s not freedom; I’m shackled to the bike. We have to stick together. But it’s escape from everything else - I can’t go to the places I used to go, be who I used to be, when I have the bike; those places wouldn’t accept me. I can go to other places I would never have dreamed of.”

Jared pauses, shocked at how much he’s shared. It’s more than he’s said to anyone since he started his journey, even himself. But Jensen doesn’t seem fazed; he nods along with Jared’s words.

“And the riding itself?” he presses. “How does that feel?”

“Like flying. Like riding a dangerous animal. Like I’m barely in control, and yet all the control rests with me. It’s terrifying.”

Jared’s never admitted this either: each morning, getting on his bike is an act of will, a triumph over the fear that curls in his belly, the statistics his friends had quoted twisting in his mind. He’s managed it every morning so far, and he’s proud of that.

“Is it worth it?” Jensen asks, cutting to the heart of the issue with a clarity that makes Jared’s heart beat a little faster.

“Every time.”

“I’d like to try it, one day,” Jensen says, so shy and soft the tips of his pointy ears turn red.

“I’ll take you for a ride,” Jared promises, only realising the innuendo once the words are out of his mouth. Jensen doesn’t seem to notice, though.

“I hope that’s a promise,” he says, fingers twirling his wine glass.

“It’s a promise.”

The words feel weighty, as if inked onto heavy parchment. Jared decides he likes the feeling.

_The earth is wetter, now, sated, and he knows he won’t receive the same bounty again. He’s anxious, though, desperate almost; he twines his fingers into the leaves, trails them down boughs, tangles them into the earth. It sucks, oozes around his fingers, slick and muddy as his palms slide across the earth. So much moisture; too much for the earth to consume._

_“Please,” he thinks. “Please listen.” The woods pause, waiting for his plea, but he’s struck dumb, out of inspiration._

_Leaves brush against his face, water settling onto his neck, his eyelashes, into the bow of his lips, caressing his face; every breath damp._

_It comes to him slowly, as his feet settle deeper into the earth, sinking down. “Please,” he asks again. “Give the moisture back. Return it for the day;, share it with the air. Share it with me. With him.”_

_Leaves tickle softly across his cheek, over the spikes of his hair, and wrap around his neck in a brief stroke - the only answer he’ll receive._

Jared wakes warm again, less disorientated than the day before. _Jensen_ , he thinks as his brain stumbles awake, brain already associating his new friend with warmth and comfort.

It’s only when he realises that he’s described Jensen, if only internally, as the f-word that he jolts awake. _No help_ , he reminds himself. _You’re doing this by yourself. Time to leave today._

But today, when he draws the curtains back, there’s no beautiful view, no stream, no lake and barely any flowers. The world outside the house might as well not exist, blanketed in fog thick enough Jared can barely see the path.

_Fuck._

__  


Jared joins Jensen for breakfast, mind jangling in complete contrast to the almost eerie silence filling the house. Jensen’s as busy in the kitchen as usual, his hands flying as he whisks eggs and chops herbs.

“Omelettes today?” he asks, cheerfully, before Jared has a chance to say anything.

“Um… yes,” Jared replies, determined not to get distracted by Jensen’s astonishing cooking. “Um… the mist?” His brain’s not as online as he might hope.

“Yeah, it’s very foggy today,” Jensen says, stating the obvious while he concentrates on the frying pan. “Coffee?” He breaks away for a moment to pour Jared a mug of thick, delicious-smelling nectar. Holding it out, he stands in front of Jared, once again displaying a disconcerting lack of awareness around personal space.

There’s something oddly familiar about the action, something completely domestic, and Jared’s frozen as their hands brush, warm tendrils of steam snaking between them. The moment catches, neither of them moving, before Jared shakes himself. _Time to leave._

“Thanks,” he mutters, moving away to the breakfast bar. “Is the fog likely to lift this morning?”

“No,” Jensen says, shaking his head with what would be sadness, if his tone wasn’t so flat. “It’s forecast to last all day. Possibly tomorrow, too. It’s not uncommon after all the rain; it’s normal for around here. It’s a very moist area. Lots of moisture. It often gets humid in the summer…”

He trails off as Jared stares.

“Ok.” Jared takes a deep breath. He wants to leave today; he has to find a way to leave today. Maybe the fog won’t be so bad away from the lake. “I’m worried about my bike, though. I don’t like it being abandoned like that. I should go back to it and then drive on into the next town, get out of your hair.”

Jensen’s focused on his frying pan again. “The fog is really bad,” he says. “And you’re no bother to me at all.” Jared can see a hint of teeth as Jensen’s mouth curves up into a smile. “I wouldn’t want you to risk going on the bike when you can’t see anything and you don’t know the roads.”

Jared grits his teeth, knowing Jensen is right but unwilling to give up.

“Ok. Well, I hate the bike being there. Is there a way we can walk there and get it back? It’s not that far.”

Jensen purses his lips, looking unhappy. “Yes, we could go for a walk after breakfast if we’re careful. Bring it back here so it’s safer. But honestly, there’s no need to worry about moving on today.”

“Ok, let’s do that.”

Jared’s sure, absolutely sure, the fog won’t prove to be as bad as it looks.

After breakfast turns into almost lunchtime, by the time they both have the energy to move again.

“Let’s go,” Jensen says, standing at the door with his blue umbrella clutched firmly in his hands. “Just in case,” he explains when Jared stares at it. He’s wrapped up firmly in a number of waterproof layers, culminating in solid brown hiking boots that look like they’ve seen many winters. In contrast, Jared feels like a fool. His options were either skinny jeans or his leathers, so his jeans are tucked into his heavy black boots, his dark leather jacket settled around his shoulders. Jensen looks like he belongs in the countryside; in contrast, Jared looks like exactly what he is: a city boy dropped into an alternate reality.

“Here, you’ll be freezing like this,” Jensen says, holding out a scarf.

Jared shrugs. “I’m always warm,” he says.

“Nonsense. It’s cold and damp out today.” Before Jared realises what’s happening, Jensen is wrapping the scarf around his neck, tucking it neatly into the collar of his jacket. His hands brush against Jared’s neck, warm and soft, setting the small hairs at the top of his spine on end.

“Now you’re ready,” Jensen says, smiling, and yet again, Jared’s almost blinded by his beauty.

They set off, Jensen leading the way on far more confident feet than Jared. He seems to almost glide through the undergrowth, feet barely leaving an impression in the sucking mud, while Jared has to struggle to lift his feet for each step. It’s abundantly clear Jared couldn’t ride today; with every step they take further away from the house, he has to squash the urge to clutch the back of Jensen’s jacket to avoid losing him in the fog.

“Are you sure you’re heading in the right direction?” he has to ask after what feels like an endless walk through a grey tunnel, only the ends of the plants to either side of them visible as they push through bushes. The air shimmers with moisture, and Jared would never admit it, but he’s glad for the scarf.

Jensen turns around to face him, drops twinkling on his eyelashes as his eyes crinkle with amusement. “Of course I am, Jared. I’ve lived here for a long time, after all.”

Jared ponders that as they continue. At a guess, he’d place Jensen only a few years older than he is, so it’s unlikely Jensen has been living by the lake for that long. The house shows no sign of being an old family home; there are almost no personal items or photos decorating the house at all.

That leads Jared to another train of thought that’s been prickling at his subconscious these last few days: what does Jensen _do_? He doesn’t seem to be disconcerted about being trapped in the house by the weather and has shown no signs of doing any work from home. None of the rooms in the house - and Jared has seen almost all of them by now - appear to be a home office. In fact, Jared hasn’t seen so much as a laptop or computer. And yet, the house is beautifully furnished, everything modern and well made and in pristine condition.

Maybe Jensen inherited money. Or won the lottery. That’s the only answer Jared can think of.

But still. What does he _do_ every day?

At least part of the answer is clear: he goes for enough walks he can navigate his way through the woods around his house with precision, because as Jared is getting worried, the metal legs of the water tower loom up in front of them, close enough that without Jensen in front of him, Jared might well have tripped over the concrete lip of the base.

“See?” Jensen asks, more than a little smug. It’s a good look on him, rosy cheeks beaming, but as Jared has come to realise over the last couple of days, everything is a good look on Jensen.

“Show off,” Jared mutters, sticking his tongue out to make it clear he’s teasing. Jensen frowns, as if he truly believes Jared is upset, but then he returns the gesture with a flash of pink tongue, much to Jared’s delight. Jensen’s been oddly serious so much of the time that to see a hint of playfulness makes happiness curl in Jared’s stomach.

Time to get his bike and leave.

He hurries to the other side of the water tower, relieved to find his bike exactly where he’d left it. “Hey, girl,” he murmurs, patting the seat and hoping his voice won’t carry in the silence. He’s not looking forward to wheeling the bike back along the path, but he’s even less keen to leave it here. He quickly unlocks the wheels.

Jensen’s staring at him when he turns. “Ready,” he says, but Jensen doesn’t reply, just looks Jared up and down, eyes wide.

Jared wheels the bike forward a little. “Jensen, should we head back?” he asks. He hates feeling this helpless, but without Jensen’s assistance, he has no chance of finding the house again.

Jensen remains silent, eyes flicking from Jared to the bike and back.

“Jensen,” Jared says sharply. “Are you ok?”

Jensen seems to come out of his stupor. “Yes,” he replies. “I just…” he trails off, his face red to the tips of his pointy ears. “It’s just…”

After three days of Jensen’s tendency to ramble, Jared is bemused to find Jensen lost for words.

“I just… you look… different… with your bike.”

“Oh.” Jared doesn’t know how to reply to that. “In a good way?” He ruthlessly squashes down how important Jensen’s opinion has become.

“Of course! It was just… a shock. And I…”

They stand, fog swirling around them, while Jensen’s mouth opens and closes again, as if he’s struggling for the courage to speak.

“I would still like you to take me for a ride, when we can.”

Despite all his tangled feelings of helplessness, of being trapped; his desperation to leave while he still has the motivation, his frustration at the way his journey has been delayed, yet again; despite everything, Jared beams.

“We can definitely make that happen.”

Jared’s right - bringing the bike back along the track is utter hell. The bike is heavy and difficult to manoeuvre at the best of times, and now, with the grip slippery from the fog and tree roots lurching from the ground with no warning, it’s a slow journey back. He’s soon sweating through his t-shirt, desperate to pull off the scarf but unable to let go of the bike long enough to do it. It has nothing to do with not wanting to offend Jensen.

He’s so lost in his own misery that he almost crashes the bike into the back of Jensen, pulling up short with a high pitched yelp. Jensen arches an eyebrow at him, amused; then his smile turns big and wide, almost childlike.

“Come over here, Jared,” he says, brimming with enthusiasm.

Jared gives him a look, but Jensen is unperturbed.

“You can prop it up, right? It has a stand-thingy? You have to come and see this.”

Jared’s hot and sweaty, the tip of his nose is freezing, his arms are starting to hurt from hauling his bike along the path and against all odds, he’s feeling hungry again, but he can’t resist. He kicks down the bike stand and gives the bike a good shake to make sure it’s secure on the uneven ground. With a sigh, he follows Jensen off the path and into the forest, taking the opportunity to unwind the scarf from his neck.

Jensen hasn’t ventured far, thankfully; he’s crouched down in front of a tree, intent on something in front of him. “Look, Jared,” Jensen says as he hears Jared crashing through the bushes into the little clearing.

Jared drops down beside Jensen, wondering what all the fuss is about. They’re sheltered under the boughs of the tree, and it takes him a moment to see what Jensen’s pointing at.

It’s mushrooms. Jensen’s dragged him into the trees to look at mushrooms.

Jared should be exasperated, even cross, they’ve strayed from the path during a long, damp, difficult walk, to look at mushrooms. But there’s such honest, innocent enthusiasm on Jensen’s face that his irritated words die in his throat.

“Mushrooms,” he says, trying to inject some enthusiasm.

“Delicious mushrooms,” Jensen corrects. “We can eat these for dinner. I’ll make them into a sauce for steak.”

That does sound delicious. Jared’s maybe a little bit less cross about being dragged off the path now.

But… “Are you sure they’re edible mushrooms?” he asks. He might not know much about nature, but he does know some mushrooms are poisonous.

“Of course they are, Jared,” Jensen says, his tone suggesting Jared is being entirely unreasonable. “The forest would never give us poisonous mushrooms.” With that, Jensen gathers them gently, giving them to Jared to put in his pockets, and Jared can’t bring himself to argue.

It’s not until they’re back on the path that he stops to consider how Jensen could possibly have seen the mushrooms through the thick, cloying fog.

The rest of the day passes peacefully, filled with a domestic puttering Jared can’t examine too closely. He reads, more than he has in years, picking a volume of fairy stories from Jensen’s well-stocked shelves, and they discuss them over steak and mushrooms for dinner. By the time evening comes, the restless feeling Jared woke with is banked, damped down for the night at least, the allure of Jensen’s excellent, syrupy wine and the too-comfortable bed overriding his normal instincts.

He wakes in the night for the first time, warm and replete but somehow utterly awake. With a sigh, he folds his long legs out of the bed, intending to fetch his book from the living room. It’s late, the sky still dark and the birds silent as Jared makes his way through the silent house. He pauses at the big picture windows, peering out to see if the fog has lifted.

He can’t see any traces of fog; in fact, he can see all the way up to a stunning panoply of stars, jewelled across the night sky. Jared smiles; when he’d started his journey, this is what he’d expected, the opportunity to see things that years in the city had denied him.

The stars give enough light that his eyes pick up on a slight movement in the darkness. Heart pounding, Jared presses against the window, trying to make out who, or what, is outside. He’s always had an irrational fear of bears, but he’s sure there are no bears around here. It must be something else.

As his eyes adjust, he realises the shape is Jensen. His host is outside in the garden, close to the edge of the lake and the trees, barefoot and naked. He’s almost glowing in the starlight, body edged in a silver that hides all the details Jared can’t help looking for.

Jensen crouches down at the water’s edge, hands buried in the soil, and throws his head back. Jared can see his mouth moving, before Jensen shoots to his feet. He twirls slowly, arms outstretched, fingers reaching, still speaking, still gleaming.

Jared’s transfixed. He watches, eyes feasting on the barely-seen lines of Jensen’s body, the dips and troughs of defined muscles all that’s visible. He has no idea what Jensen’s doing, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s only when Jensen slows, arms falling to his sides as he turns back to the house, that Jared realises how inappropriate he’s being. With a gnawing sense of guilt roiling in his stomach, he scuttles back towards his bed, book long forgotten.

Safely back under the covers, he tries to make sense of what he’d seen, but try as he might, he can’t think of any logical reason for a naked Jensen to be frolicking in his garden in the middle of the night. He can only assume that living out here, so alone and cut off from others, Jensen’s gone a little bit loopy.

Jared’s certainly not complaining though.

Jared and Jensen take their breakfast on the patio the next morning, clouds still streaming through the sky but the occasional sunbeam breaking through. It’s still not warm, and Jensen tucks Jared into a worn, soft hoodie before they go outside. They sit side by side at the table, a stack of pancakes high on both plates, and Jared can’t help but sneak glances at Jensen as he eats.

Jensen’s bundled up for the cold, thick wooly socks meeting warm tracksuit bottoms and a wooly Aran sweater. Jared can’t square this image of Jensen, covered from neck to toe in thick wool, with the naked, almost fey creature who’d danced in the starlight last night. It keeps him occupied throughout breakfast, and they eat in a silence that’s long past awkward.

Jared feels awkward though. Now he knows what Jensen looks like without clothes. More importantly, he’s intruded on something private, something Jensen does alone, and in the clear light of morning he feels horribly guilty about how long he’d watched.

He stumbles on his answers to Jensen’s infrequent questions, and for the first time, his desire to leave is less about feeling trapped here, and more about not wanting to ruin whatever has grown between him and Jensen. And inevitably, if Jared stays, it will be ruined.

By the time they’ve washed up, the kitchen is filled with sunlight, gleaming from the surfaces and filling the house with a sense of space and freedom that’s been lacking the past few days.

Jared’s about to head to his room and pack up his few belongings when Jensen stops him.

“Jared,” he says, “I know you’re probably planning to leave today. I know you’ve been here longer than you planned, and it was because of the weather, and you probably just want to get back on the road again and you’re probably planning to leave soon.” Jared waits, amused; he’s learnt over the last couple of days to let Jensen’s nervous babbling run itself out. “I know you want to go; I know you’re probably bored of being here, but before you do, maybe you could stay a few hours more? I…I would really like… I…”

Jared waits.

“I would still like to go for a ride on your motorbike.”

 _You promised him_ , Jared thinks, the weight of the promise sitting oddly in his stomach. A quick ride won’t delay him too much. And it will make Jensen happy, and he owes Jensen for letting him stay these last few days. That’s all it is.

“Ok, we can go for a ride.”

Jensen beams at him.

By the time Jensen is settled on the bike behind him, Jared is regretting his decision. Not because he’s desperate to leave - if anything, the restless feeling has been dimmed simply by the thought of being on his bike and the knowledge he can now leave whenever he wants - but because he hadn’t considered the implications of Jensen pressed up behind him.

It sets alarm bells ringing in his brain - he’s worked hard to ignore Jensen’s beauty, to not think of Jensen as anything other than the oddly friendly stranger who’d given him a place to stay for a couple of nights - though his own attraction has only grown from the minute they’d met. But Jensen has given no indication he feels anything remotely similar, has treated Jared with simple courtesy and respect, and Jared doesn’t want to repay him by perving on him. But now, with Jensen’s warm weight pressed up against his back, he worries about his own resolve.

He’s done everything he can to ensure Jensen’s safety. He doesn’t have a spare pair of leather pants, but Jensen’s wrapped in the sturdiest pair of jeans Jared could find in his closet, and he’s wearing a thick rain jacket over a thicker sweater. Jared had tucked Jensen into his spare helmet, making sure it was secure and trying not to think about the fact they were almost back to chest.

He’d given Jensen a series of signals so Jensen could communicate with him while they were driving. He’s worried Jensen, who seems so sheltered, will freak out and have no way of asking Jared to stop. Jensen had dismissed that fear.

“I’m not a baby, Jared. In fact, I’ve experienced things you can’t imagine.” It’s one of the firmest things Jensen’s said to him yet, and it had left Jared’s mind spinning. “So tell me how to give you directions; there’s somewhere I want to take you.”

Jensen had settled on the seat impatiently, and unable to delay any longer, Jared had swung his leg over in front. Jensen had immediately wrapped his arms around Jared’s waist, holding tight.

So now, Jared takes a deep breath to calm his body down, and guns the engine. His bike comes to life with a roar that reverberates deep inside him, and he releases the brake to ease them down the path. He takes it slowly, giving Jensen and the bike time to get used to the uneven path, but once they reach the main road, all bets are off. He’s too antsy from days spent indoors to wait.

Opening up the throttle, they fly down the road, and Jared yells, mind going blank with joy.

When Jared comes back to himself, able to focus on something other than the open road in front of him, Jensen’s still pressed to his back. He can feel Jensen shaking, almost trembling, through all their layers of clothing. Horrified, he realises he might have missed a signal from Jensen.

Spotting a layby, he eases the bike over and slows to a stop. As soon as the bike is stable, he twists around to look at Jensen, pulling his helmet off. Jensen’s definitely shaking, hands still moulded to Jared’s hips, and Jared can feel his own hands trembling as he reaches for Jensen’s helmet, stomach churning with guilt.

“I’m so sor-” he begins, as he tugs the helmet off as gently as he can. He has to stop, though, because as soon as Jensen’s face is visible it’s clear he’s not scared at all. He’s laughing, laughing so hard its making his body shake, face lit up and eyes squeezed closed. His hands fly from Jared’s hips to his shoulders, pulling Jared closer.

“That was amazing,” he says fervently. “That was fantastic. I loved it! Thank you, Jared.”

It’s all Jared can do not to kiss him. He clenches his fists, desperately clinging to his self-control.

“Let’s go again!” Jensen says, incandescent with enthusiasm, and with a wrench, Jared looks away.

“Helmet on,” he says gruffly, revving the engine. Jensen’s arms push back around his waist, crisscrossing up high this time as Jensen pushes even closer to Jared.

“Go faster this time!” he hears Jensen yell through the helmets.

Jared doesn’t think he can ride fast enough to outpace this feeling.

This time, Jared pays more attention to his passenger, and every so often he feels a squeeze to one of his arms telling him to take a turn. Jensen leads them, unerringly, towards his unknown destination.

They’re off the main highway soon enough, back to bumping down a side road. Jared takes it slowly, swerving around puddles and patches of mud. Fields change to patchy trees, and they’re back into another forest area, the sunlight reduced to stray beams that sneak through the branches. The ground is so broken Jared’s clutching the handles as the bike rattles along, and there’s a part of him that wants to be angry at Jensen for taking them on a trip so utterly unsuited to the bike. But the biggest part of him, that’s come to trust Jensen over these past few days despite his valiant attempts to resist, knows Jensen wouldn’t be bringing them here without good reason.

A tap to his chest lets him know to stop.

“This is as far as we can go,” Jensen says after he pulls his helmet off. “The bike and the helmets will be safe; I’ve never seen another human here.” He takes off his top two layers as well, revealing a grey henley that clings softly to the dips of muscles Jared had seen the night before. “Come on, I want you to see.”

Jared can only follow.

Jensen leads him down a narrower track, similar to the one they’d walked the day before. Fronds brush their faces and birds call in the trees above them, delighted with the sunshine after days of rain. Soon there’s no track at all, and Jensen’s holding back branches for Jared as they push their way through the forest.

“Haven’t been here yet this year,” Jensen tells him with a grin when Jared dares to question their route. “Don’t worry, though. I never get lost.”

Another few moments pass before Jensen pauses. “We’re here. I hope you like it. I think you will. I think it’s beautiful. But. Maybe you’ve been to other better places, maybe you’ve seen other places that are more beautiful on your journey. I just… I hope you like it. I’ve … I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

With that final pronouncement, he pushes back a leafy branch and gestures for Jared to go through the space he’s made. Jared, heart beating double time, is glad of the excuse not to reply, and pushes through, trying not to brush up against Jensen as he passes.

He’s greeted with one of the sights of a lifetime. He’s close to the top of a small cliff, surrounded by green. To one side, a waterfall thunders into a small lake, the water so clear he can see the rocks at the bottom even from this distance. The blazing sunshine creates rainbows that dance across the waterfall, and the thunder of the water hitting the rocks below mingles with the chirps of birds.

Jared is vividly reminded of the book of fairytales he’d been reading the day before. It’s easy to imagine this as the portal to another realm, or as somewhere the fae would gather to entice humans. It’s perfect, and he’s achingly grateful to Jensen for sharing it.

“C’mon,” Jensen says, shoulder bumping Jared as he sets off around the cliffs. He leads them unerringly to a tiny path, barely more than a few bare patches of connected dirt, and they scramble down the hill towards the water.

Jared struggles to concentrate on his footing, his mind swirling between the view of the lake and the other view, of Jensen. The other man has come alive here, his already astounding beauty become almost unearthly, and Jared is reminded of the way he’d seemed to glow the night before. Even now, in the full light of day, he could swear there’s a faint shimmer to Jensen’s skin. It’s nonsense, of course; they’re not in Twilight and humans don’t glitter - but still.

When they reach the bottom, both panting and Jared more than a little scratched, Jensen stops at the edge of the water. He looks between Jared and the lake a few times, as if he wants to say something, and Jared waits for the signature rambling that’s the hallmark of an enthusiastic Jensen. But the silence stretches out, the tips of Jensen’s ears reddening, the quiet between them turning awkward for the first time in days. Jared racks his brain, trying to understand what’s wrong.

It hits him he’d never answered Jensen’s worries. He’d thought his stunned silence was enough feedback, but maybe Jared’s lack of audible positivity has upset Jensen. He frowns, heart sinking because his thoughtlessness has caused upset.

“Jensen,” he says softly. “It’s so beautiful here. It’s stunning.” Jensen flicks a look up through his eyelashes, wary, and Jared realises he was right.

“Seriously.” He takes a step closer to Jensen. “Seriously, this is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.” He keeps his voice soft, not wanting to intrude. Another step, and he’s right in front of Jensen. “Thank you for bringing me here.” The words whisper from his mouth, tickling across Jensen’s face with their proximity. Their eyes lock, Jared seeing the flecks of pure gold among the green for the first time.

Jensen raises his hand, trembling, and places it on Jared’s face. Jared’s unable to move, breath hitching and eyelashes fluttering between open and closed as he waits. Jensen’s so slow as he moves towards Jared, thumb sweeping under Jared’s eyelid before their mouths meet.

Jensen’s lips taste sweet, like the syrup they’d had for breakfast, and the kiss is soft and sticky, neither of them willing to let it go. Jared’s hands find their way to Jensen’s waist, his fingers flexing, while Jensen’s other hand winds itself into Jared’s hair with a sweet tug.

The kiss draws on and on, the vibrations of the waterfall behind them contributing to the tingling in Jared’s spine. His mind’s blanked out, all the daily noise he tries so hard to suppress gone, the space filled only with Jensen. Hands sweep down his front to his hips and round to rest just above his ass, and Jared returns the favour, running his hands over Jensen’s strong back. He’s coherent enough to want to see what Jensen looks like, to see bliss painted across his face, so he forces his eyes open with a conscious effort, fighting against their desire to remain closed.

It must be a trick of the light, but when Jared opens his eyes, Jensen is almost incandescent in his arms. It’s almost as if he’s radiating light, as if it’s growing inside him and spilling out now his defenses are down, but that’s foolishness. When Jared’s can focus through the brightness, he can see Jensen’s more beautiful like this: each freckle across his nose highlighted like a star against his fair skin, the crinkles around his eyelids relaxed in pleasure.

Having looked his fill, Jared dives back into the kiss. It’s only when Jensen’s hands wander further, gripping his ass and pulling him close, that alarm bells start to go off in his head, overriding the feeling of satisfaction.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He’s not allowed to have this, and he swore he wouldn’t let anything like this happen when he left. He needs to put a stop to this, get Jensen to direct him back to the house, and hit the road again.

With a wrench, he pulls back, breathing harshly. Jensen’s eyes open slowly, golden-green almost eaten by black, and the glow dims as he looks at Jared in confusion. Jared tears his eyes away from the bitten-pink of Jensen’s lips and turns his back towards the lake.

“I need to go back to the house,” he says, voice rasping far more than he’d expected.

“Jared… what?” Jensen asks.

“I need to go back.”

Footsteps approach, and then Jensen’s hand settles on his shoulder, but Jared shrugs it off, a whisper away from violence.

“Fine,” Jensen replies, voice brittle. Before Jared realises, Jensen is halfway up the hillside, bounding from foothold to foothold with an ease Jared will never be able to replicate. Jared follows, heart heavier than he’s willing to admit.

The ride back to the house is frosty. There are no warm arms wrapped around him this time; Jensen holds onto the seat handles, scooted so far back he’s not touching Jared at all. Jared’s too sunk in misery, in the roil of thoughts in his mind, to enjoy the ride this time; all he wants is to get back as soon as possible.

Jensen’s off the bike even as it skids to a halt in front of his house. He shoves the helmet hard enough at Jared to leave a stinging bruise on Jared’s chest, and storms off. The front door slams behind him, leaving Jared with the awkward decision of whether to follow and how to get his pack.

Jared sinks to his knees and buries his face in the warmth of the leather seat, letting the bike absorb his weight as it’s been doing all these weeks.

_“What are you doing?”_

_The closet door slams._

_“I’m leaving, Jared.” A gut wrenching pause. “I’m leaving you.”_

_“Why, Charlie? I thought you were happy.”_

_The bag slams down onto the floor, the thud of Charlie’s laptop inside sounding the permanence of his decision._

_“How would you know, Jared? I haven’t seen you in weeks. You work late, you’re out schmoozing work people, you’re locked in that office. Even before, even when you were here, you were running numbers in your head when we kissed.” He laughs, a tiny, bitter thing. “You’ve always loved math more than me. You’ve become a robot, Jay, a corporate robot trapped in your big tower, and you don’t have space for me anymore.”_

_Sound crashes around Jared, the truth of the words like cymbals in his head. It’s true, a big, glaring uncomfortable truth that he’s shoved away time and time again. He does love his job more than Charlie._

_“I’m sorry,” he says, words sticking on his tongue._

_“I know, Jared. That’s the problem. You’d never do this on purpose, you just didn’t care enough to notice you’ve broken my heart.”_

_And with that, Charlie sweeps up his bag and pushes past Jared, out of the room and out of his life._

__  


Jared’s not sure how much time has passed when he heaves himself to his feet, legs and heart heavy. He’s startled to feel raindrops splashing on his face when he rises; what had been streaming sunlight is now overcast, with deep, black clouds looming nearer than should be possible.

With effort, he forces himself to think practically and wheel the bike into the shelter of the porch; with a deep breath, he tries the door. To his surprise, it opens, but as he steps inside it’s whisked out of his hands, slamming back into the frame. The wind is whirling through the house courtesy of the thrown-open french windows, and he feels like he’s at the centre of a maelstrom as papers and books fly around the main room.

“Jensen?” he calls, shocked into alarm, but there’s no response.

Still undecided on whether he wants to get his pack or find Jensen, he walks through the house with hesitant steps, voices warring inside his head. He’s aghast at what had happened with Jensen, that he’d let things go so far, that it had felt so good. The desire to fix things is warring with the desire to leave.

He stops when he reaches the windows, peering out into the garden towards the lake. The black clouds have arrived in full force now, rain already lashing the windows, and the wind is strong outside, the trees around the small lake almost bent in half.

Jensen is the eye of the storm.

Stood in the middle of the garden, arms raised, head tipped back, fury and desolation radiates through every bone of his body. He trembles, and the storm trembles with him. He wails, and lightning strikes. He shouts, and thunder claps. His arms drop and the rain lashes, heavier.

Jared grips the door frame, bracing against the wind. He’s stunned, mind tumbling and heart racing. It’s almost as if Jensen is a part of the storm, calling it, _controlling_ it. But that can’t be, because humans can’t do that. It must be a trick of his imagination that with every movement, every sound Jensen makes, the storm changes timbre.

And then there is the glow. That light, the incandescence, that Jared had seen earlier, is back, radiating from Jensen with a force that rivals the lightning. It’s coming from inside him, his skin almost translucent with light, freckles dancing against luminous skin.

With a thud that makes Jared’s own knees ache, Jensen drops to the ground, curling over so his head is pressed to the earth. The storm lulls, wind dying down and rain easing. The room behind Jared quietens, papers fluttering to a halt and books pattering onto the floor. Jensen’s hands clench in the soil, back arching in pain, and the boom of thunder is loud enough to shake the house, ornaments crashing from the shelves and a tinkle of smashed glass from the kitchen.

Jared ducks instinctively, hands crossing over his head, eyes riveted on Jensen. There can be no mistake, now, however insane it might sound: Jensen is the storm.

Pain crashes through Jared, cresting like a wave that rolls through his body as he realises that he is the cause of this, that he has hurt Jensen badly enough to provoke such a maelstrom. His chest aches, more than he can bear, at the thought of Jensen in this much pain, at the knowledge he has caused this distress. His feelings for Jensen, growing and ruthlessly squashed during his stay, break free, whirling with the same intensity as the wind, overwhelming his hard-built defenses.

Dropping to his own knees, he pushes forward, moving instinctively towards Jensen. It takes effort, bracing against the wind and slipping through the remnants of days of mud augmented by the downpour, but Jared is nothing if not stubborn. This whole trip has proved that.

He reaches Jensen and pauses. What if his presence, his touch, makes it worse? What more could Jensen achieve, with greater hurt? But Jared has to take the risk, has to open up to the possibility of harm, to open his heart and welcome Jensen inside after years of self-preservation. With immense effort, he extends his arms and pulls Jensen to him, tumbling his stiff, resisting body into Jared’s embrace.

The storm stops, silence ringing around them, sunlight breaking through.

Jensen slumps against Jared, trembling, as Jared wraps his arms around him. Jared rubs his face against Jensen’s cold cheek and they cling to each other, no longer the eye of the storm.

Eventually, Jared recovers enough to get them back inside.

He hustles Jensen in, out of the wet and back into the warm. Ignoring the chaos of the living room, he pulls Jensen’s unresisting form along with him until they reach Jensen’s own room, relatively unscathed compared to the rest of the house.

Propping Jensen against the bed, he undresses him swiftly, forcing himself not to look, not to take advantage of the situation. He rifles through Jensen’s closet, pulling out the warmest clothes he can find in Jensen’s extensive collection of warm clothes, and bundles him up, trying to rub warmth back into Jensen’s chilled body. Only after he’s got Jensen redressed, a surreal parody of the way Jensen has cared for him these past few days, does he strip off his own soaked clothes, leaving them in a sopping puddle on the floor before he pulls on borrowed clothes that end north of his wrists and ankles.

Jensen’s still sitting, unmoving and stiff, where Jared left him. Jared frowns, unsure how best to proceed, but the huge shiver that wracks Jensen’s body helps to clear his mind. Trying not to think about how badly wrong this could go, he sits on the bed behind Jensen and pulls the other man towards him, manhandling him until they’re both propped up against the head of the bed. Jensen doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t help either, just shivers again and again, eyes unfocused. Jared’s been told enough times he’s a human heater; he has to hope it’ll work in these highly improbable circumstances. Wrapping his arms around Jensen, he cocoons them both in a hastily tugged quilt and sits quietly, trying to process what he’d seen.

He’d definitely seen something. That much he’s clear on - there was no normal, rational explanation for what had happened this afternoon, and when added to what he’d seen the night before and the way Jensen had glowed in his arms that afternoon, the evidence is incontrovertible. Except - incontrovertible evidence of what, exactly?

Jared’s never been superstitious, or prone to believing in the unseen. He’s a mathematician, for crying out loud, an accountant who made good. There’s no room for doubt or debate in math, and Jared has always followed that approach to his belief system. If he can’t see it, he doesn’t believe in it. But now, he’s faced with something he did see, something that had happened before his eyes. He just has no idea what it is.

His mind circles back to his thoughts earlier that day. Twilight, he’d thought at the lake, Jensen glowing like Robert freaking Pattinson. Vampires aren’t real, Jared knows that, and yet it would explain so much about Jensen. That he seems almost ageless, he’s clearly lived here for far longer than Jared can explain, and he doesn’t seem to have a job or any income. It would explain his loneliness, too; Jared’s always wondered how immortal beings would fare when their social network died out. And Jensen’s constant chilliness. He’s not sure how it links to the storm, as yet, but sue him; he’s already dealing with the knowledge that vampires are real.

They sit that way for a long time, while Jensen’s shivers quieten and Jared thinks. He should be afraid, he knows; logically, the creature in his arms could kill him. But Jared has seen nothing but kindness these past days, nothing but a clear and continuing concern for Jared’s wellbeing. There isn’t a hint of malice, or evil, in Jensen; Jared would stake his life on it.

 _Stake_ , he thinks, _I wonder if that part is true_. The situation is so ridiculous it startles a snort out of him, his body jumping with amusement.

It’s enough to jostle Jensen into awareness. He stiffens in Jared’s arms, looking up with panic-wide eyes. There’s a frozen moment, both of them caught off-guard, before Jensen tries to fling himself out of Jared’s arms; it’s all Jared can do to tighten his arms in time.

“Jensen,” he says softly. “Stay, please.”

There’s one, last shudder from Jensen, before he settles back.

Jared takes a deep breath, trying to find the words he needs.

“Jensen - what - how - what was that, earlier?”

It’s as gentle as he can make the question, given the turmoil in his head.

Jensen rolls his eyes, irritated. “What do you care, Jared. You’re just leaving me… you’re just leaving here, anyway.”

Jared’s heart clenches. “I’m- I - You-” he stutters. “I still think I deserve to know.”

He knows it’s wrong as soon as it comes out of his mouth. Jensen stiffens entirely in his arms, anger bristling from him under the fluffy blanket. “You _deserve_ to know? _Deserve_? You don’t deserve anything, Jared. You kissed me earlier; you made me think - and then you said you were leaving. You don’t deserve shit.”

It’s the harshest thing Jensen’s said since Jared arrived, and it sears through Jared, leaving chaos in its wake. He tightens his arms instinctively, in case Jensen tries to flee again, but Jensen curls in on himself.

“Jensen - I - I said that wrong. But I do want to know. And you deserve an explanation too, for why I did what I did. It’s - I haven’t - it’s hard for me to talk about.” Jared’s voice trembles for just the slightest second, before he pulls himself back under control. “But I will if you will.” The forced cheer that echoes through his last words falls painfully flat, but it does at least encourage Jensen to look up at him.

“I do deserve an explanation, Jared.” The implication is clear: Jared is going to have to do his part first.

“Ok, but just-” Jared manhandles Jensen again, shifting him so Jensen’s back is to Jared’s front. He can’t do this with Jensen looking at him.

It’s not even like it’s all that big a deal; he knows millions of people experience worse every day.

“So I… am travelling around America on my bike for a while.”

He pauses.

“Yes, Jared, I’d noticed.” Jensen’s voice is dry; clearly he’s going to be given no quarter.

“I didn’t used to do that. I never even had a bike up until a few months ago; I’d only ridden a moped on holidays when I was younger. I was in finance; I was a stockbroker and I was damn good at it. Made tons of money.”

It’s barely a thought, now, the huge lump of money sitting in his barely used bank account. He fills up his bike, buys roadside food and sleeps in crappy motels; the amount has barely decreased in the months of his journey.

“I was progressing well. Had a chance of becoming partner, was set for life.”

Jensen’s listening intently, all his interruptions over. He doesn’t complain when Jared pauses this time, resting his chin on Jensen’s shoulder, soaking in his warmth.

“I had a partner, too. Charlie. We’d been together forever. He was supportive of my career, loved the lifestyle. I was out at work and he got on with my bosses. I thought we were happy; I thought we had it made.”

There’s a lump in his throat that shouldn’t be there; Jared doesn’t get to feel bad about this.

“Turns out he wasn’t on the same page.”

The words drop into the silence like pebbles, rippling out.

“Did he-” Jensen chokes off his question, but Jared knows what’s coming. _Did he cheat on you?_ It’s the question his few remaining friends, the ones his job hadn’t pushed away, had asked him, over and over, as he made his plans, shut up his house, bought his leathers and sped off into the sunset.

“God, no,” he says. “He was far too good of a person for that. It was all me; it was all my fault.”

This is as far as he’d gotten in his explanations before he left, the mumbled assurance that the blame laid with him. No one had believed him, his reaction too extreme.

“I thought he was happy, that I made him happy. I thought I was doing the right thing, the best thing, by him, by us.” It’s as if a dam has broken, spilling his words after months of silence. “I thought I loved him and he loved me back. Turns out I was half right: he loved me and I broke his heart.”

Jensen makes a little mmph of surprise.

“He left me. He pointed out all the ways I’d let him down, and they were all right. And then he left. And I - he was right. I’d been such a terrible person. And I realised I hadn’t loved him; I’d been tricked by the lifestyle and the time we’d been together and the way other people expected me to act, to feel. And I realised I’d been working so hard, for so long, for something that wasn’t real, something that actually, I hated. He said I’d been trapped in my office, in my job, and I had no life other than the things we’d accumulated. And I didn’t deserve any of it, anyway, not when I’d hurt Charlie so badly. And once I had all those thoughts, I couldn’t bear it, couldn’t be in the city any longer. So I sold most of it, or left it, and I bought my bike, and I left.”

Jared only realises tears are pouring down his face once he comes to a shuddering halt, finally out of words. He tries to pull back, to wipe his face and reclaim a tiny bit of his dignity, but before he has the chance, Jensen is twisting in his arms, turning to face him.

“Jared,” Jensen croons, thumbs gently wiping at the tears. “That doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s sad, but it’s just life.”

The sympathy is too much, too undeserved. Jared buries his face in Jensen’s shoulder, months of tears pouring out of him, all the sadness for his failed relationship bubbling to the surface. He still isn’t brokenhearted, hurt the way he’d hurt Charlie, but he’s grieving for the end of what they'd had together.

They sit like that for another age, Jensen’s hands moving quietly up and down Jared’s arms. It feels fair to Jared, in a way, that they’ve both shown such utter vulnerability today. He can’t remember the last time he let someone in, and judging from Jensen’s life, and the fact he’s a vampire ( _don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic),_ it’s probably been even longer for him.

Eventually, Jared’s sniffles slow, the tears dry up and he scrubs his hand over his snotty face.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes down.

Jensen’s thumb sweeps across his cheek for the hundredth time. “Nonsense,” Jensen murmurs. “I think that was a long time coming.”

Jared can only nod. He feels wrung out, empty and as shivery inside as Jensen had been earlier. He thinks he’d die if Jensen took his hands away from him right now.

“It definitely doesn’t make you a bad person,” Jensen says, voice firm. “Or undeserving. But,” he says, sensing correctly that Jared is about to interrupt. “We can talk about that later.” There’s a uplift at the end of the sentence, as if he is waiting for Jared to chip in, and it takes a moment for Jared to realise why.

“Your turn,” he says, smile watery.

“My turn,” Jensen agrees, somehow light and dark all at once. “Just, let me-”

Before Jared can blink, Jensen’s lips are on his again, sharing salt between them, soft as silk. The kiss dips, a hint of a taste, before Jensen pulls back. Jared can only stare dumbly.

“Just in case,” Jensen says, sounding ages old. “So, I think you saw me. Earlier. In the storm.”

“Yes.”

“I think you might have guessed the storm wasn’t entirely natural?”

“It was kind of obvious,” Jared agrees, touching his lip where it tingles. Jensen’s eyes track his hand.

“So you may have guessed that I’m…”

This feels like the worst possible time for Jensen’s usual babbling to have deserted him, and Jared can’t help but jump in.

“I worked it out. I get it and it’s ok. You’re a vampire.”

There’s stunned silence, before Jensen is laughing, truly laughing, for the first time since they met. It’s the most beautiful thing Jared has ever seen. He throws his head back, peals of laughter spilling from his pink mouth, freckles flushing and cheekbones sharp enough to cut.

Jared watches in amazement as the giggles go on and on, Jensen crying almost as many tears as Jared had a few moments before. By the time he stops, he’s clutching his stomach, almost wheezing in pain.

“Vampire,” he snorts, and it sets him off into another round of giggles.

When he stops this time, he looks at Jared intently, moss-green eyes steady on Jared’s. “I’m not a vampire, Jared. But the fact you said that would be ok…”

His hands cup Jared’s face, and they’re kissing again, Jared’s mind whirling faster. The kiss is deep this time, and searching, and so warm Jared doesn’t know how he could ever have thought vampire. There’s nothing cold about Jensen at all, blood rushing to his skin as he flushes down to his collarbones.

It almost kills him, but Jared manages to pull back.

“Don’t laugh,” he says, as sternly as he can manage, which isn’t nearly as sternly as he’d like. “But if you’re not a vampire, then what?” He keeps his hands on Jensen’s waist, wanting to provide reassurance.

He still wants, needs, to know the explanation, his mathematician mind prying at all the angles.

Jensen stills under his hands. “I’m Fae.”

Jared’s busy mind stills, before bursting into life, clicking all the pieces into place. It makes far more sense - being able to control nature, Jensen’s extensive collection of fairy stories, living out in the wild, his utterly unnatural beauty. But -

“Fae? How is that possible? I just - surely they’re not real?”

Jensen’s patented eye roll is back. “Vampires are fine, but Fae don’t exist?” he asks, sounding pissy.

The room fills with light before Jared can respond, emanating from Jensen, radiating from his pores. Jared can barely look; up close, and deliberately unleashed, the glow is blinding, Jensen’s features sharpening into something too beautiful to be allowed. There’s a susurration behind him, the barely-seen suggestion of wings, but Jared can’t look too closely. Jensen’s skin softens in his hands, becomes butter-soft, even more enticing, and Jared feels his mind swim.

“Fuck,” he says, reverent and drawn out.

“See.”

The glow stops, Jensen swimming back into focus, and Jared breathes again.

“I guess you want an explanation?” Jensen asks, confidence gone, but Jared is done. He sweeps forward, mouth landing sloppily on Jensen’s as he bowls them over backwards onto the bed. They land with a thump, Jensen’s hands on his shoulders sweeping down to his ass, and then up under his shirt. Jensen is scorchingly warm, now, and Jared can’t get enough. His hands wander, pushing under layers and pushing them up, wanting skin on skin.

They separate, mouths wet and swollen, while Jared pulls his shirt off and Jensen wiggles out of his clothes. Jensen spread under him is a sight Jared will never forget; he’s flushed and freckled and fair, his pupils a dark highlight against the luminescence of his skin. He’s glowing again, ever so faintly, an apparently uncontrollable response.

Jared stares long enough he loses track, and with a start, he finds himself on his back, flipped neatly so Jensen is above him. He’s more glorious looking down, his eyes roving hungrily across Jared. His hands soon follow his eyes, what little is left of Jared’s clothing flung to the floor.

When Jensen settles above him, pressed naked from ankle to mouth, Jared can’t stifle his groan. It’s been months since he felt any kind of touch, even longer since it was something so intimate, and it's enough to make his cock jump against Jensen’s, lurching dangerously towards release.

“Shh,” Jensen says, soothing rather than demanding. “I’ll get you there.”

It’s fast, after that, both of them eager for everything, Jensen’s hands flying down as Jared’s rise to grip the headboard. But it’s not frantic, or rough; there’s a tenderness, a reverence, to Jensen’s touch that has tears threatening again, Jared’s heart still fragile.

Jensen’s mouth closes on his cock at the same time as his fingers search out Jared’s hole, the shock of both sending lightning through Jared’s veins. Jensen’s mouth feels like heaven, like the caress of warm water on a sunny day, and Jared barely notices the fingers opening him, lost in sensation. He’s got one hand buried in Jensen’s hair, the other arched up behind him, pushing his hips up against the hold Jensen has on his hips. He feels out of control, turbulent, the sound of waves crashing through his mind.

It’s only when Jensen pulls away, mouth swollen and pink and wet, moss-green eyes hidden by black and caramel freckles dancing like fireflies on his glowing skin, that Jared focuses enough to croak, “Condom?” with the intention of being smooth resulting in pure desperation.

“I’m Fae,” Jensen laughs, like water rushing over rock. “I can’t give you anything.”

Jared would curse himself for his stupidity if he cared about anything other than getting Jensen’s cock in him right now.

“Ok.” He nods, pulling on Jensen’s shoulders. “Ok.”

There are no more words, just the slide of skin, the slight burn and the fullness that shocks Jared every time. Jensen’s there, shoulders bracketing his face, breathing his air as they pant together, both too overwhelmed to coordinate a kiss. Jensen’s shoulders shake in Jared’s peripheral vision, a visible reminder of how much he’s holding back, how he’s caring for Jared, but once Jared shifts his hips, clenches his fist around Jensen’s bicep and whispers for movement, all bets are off.

Jensen flows into him, hips relentless, mouth sucking at Jared’s neck. He’s slippery with sweat, Jared’s fingers almost sinking into the glow of him, diving into the incandescence as he tries to sample every pool and dip of Jensen’s body. He winds around Jensen, legs lifting and shifting, bowing towards him. He has a flash of understanding how Jensen bends the weather to his will, how everything wants to be near to him, be good for him.

He’s shocked out of that thought when Jensen’s hand closes around his cock, pulling with a sweet insistence. Jensen suckles at his throat, hard enough to leave a mark, before his tongue twines into Jared’s ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jensen whispers. Jared would scoff, if he had the breath for it; he’s never seen anyone that compares to Jensen. “You’re perfect. Stay with me.”

His hand tightens and twists, and combined with the words, it’s enough to call the lightning down from the sky into Jared’s body, causing him to arch and shout, coming so hard clouds rush into his brain. He dimly feels Jensen finding his own release through the mist around him, murmurs to himself that next time, he wants to see that, up close, make it happen and examine it in minute detail. But it all feels fuzzy, fog diluting his senses as Jensen curls beside him, seeking Jared’s warmth, pulling him tight.

For the first time in a long time, Jared drifts off to sleep with his restlessness completely satiated, his urge to escape gone. There’s a fullness inside him, even now Jensen’s pulled out, that’s been missing for a long time.

It’s dark when Jared wakes. There’s a gentle breeze trickling through the house from all the windows and doors left open during Jensen’s storm, and for the first time, Jared can really hear the sounds of nature outside the house, no longer drowned out by the rain or dampened by the fog. He can hear the odd night-bird calling, the drone of cicadas and the rustle of small animals, all overlaid with the trickle of the stream.

He’s draped over Jensen’s chest, the steady thrum of Jensen’s heart beneath his a comforting counterpoint to the sounds outside. Jensen’s awake, his hand carding softly through Jared’s hair, and without thinking, Jared presses a quick kiss to his chest, warm and chaste.

“Awake?” Jensen murmurs.

Jared nods his head minutely.

“Are you ok with everything? I’m sure you have questions... What do you want to know? I can answer anything. Well. Almost anything. Some things even I don’t understand. But I can-”

Jared’s relieved to hear Jensen’s babbling again, but he’s equally happy to silence it with a kiss. It appears to be an effective method.

“I do have questions,” he says slowly. “But I don’t need them answered all at once.”

There’s a heaviness, an implication, to his sentence, and Jared feels Jensen pick up on it in the way his heart rate increases.

“Well, let’s try one now.”

Jared ponders. He has a few questions now, but when he prods at them, more appear, like mushrooms bursting through the surface of the earth.

“Why are you here? On earth, I mean. Don’t Fae live elsewhere?”

He feels Jensen sigh. “You’ve started with the saddest question,” Jensen says, but shushes Jared’s protest, hand stroking acceptance down his back. “I’ve been here a long time. The doorway between Earth and Faerie used to be easily navigable, easily accessible. Over time, as humans became less believing, it became harder and harder to go back, and I went less frequently. My friends in Faerie, they panicked, wanted me to return, but I loved it here on Earth so much. It was such an interesting time.” Jensen pauses for a moment, hand clasping on Jared’s shoulder. “And the next time I tried, the doorway was closed, the connection lost.”

There are unshed tears in his voice that transfer to Jared’s throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry, too.”

 _Do you miss it,_ Jared wants to ask _Do you regret staying?_ But it’s too soon. That’s something to be explored another time. He racks his brain for something less loaded.

“How did you make the storm happen?”

“Ah, well. I’ve lost a lot of my powers, as the connection weakened and then the door closed. But I retain the trust of the earth, and sometimes, if I ask, it will respond.”

Jared ponders this. It tallies with what he’d seen, with how the storm had responded to Jensen’s every gesture.

“I may,” Jensen says, and pauses. “I may... “ a flush spreads down his chest. “Have utilised that in the last few days. In a way I possibly shouldn’t have. I may have asked the earth to help you stay here.”

The fog. The rain. The bright sunlight earlier today, for them to ride. Jared should be angry, but…

“You asked the earth to rain so much I couldn’t ride?”

“Yes,” Jensen whispers.

Jared can’t help it. It’s his turn to laugh a big, bright laugh, his mirth following on from Jensen’s after his tears had done the same.

“That is the most innocently creepy thing I’ve ever heard.”

Jensen bristles under him. “It wasn’t creepy. I would never. I was never, if you’d wanted to leave, if you’d hated me, I’d have asked it to stop, I’d have made sure, I wouldn’t keep you here-”

Again, Jared finds the quickest way to reassure him is with a kiss. If it’s what he’s wanted to do since he woke, that’s purely coincidental.

“I’d like to stay for a while,” he suggests, when they break apart.

“Yes,” Jensen breathes.

“But I’ll need to go riding sometimes.”

“Will you take me with you sometimes?”

“I promise.”

“And come back?”

“I promise.”

Again, the words settle like a comforting weight on his chest, a feeling like a warm fire on a cold day.

“And you’ll tell me more about Fae?” Jared asks.

“I promise.”

This time, Jensen’s words flare inside him, zipping through him like the leftover static after a storm. Jared never wants to escape this feeling.

Jared wraps his arms around Jensen’s leather-clad waist, breathing in the grass-and-water smell of him. He noses along Jensen’s neck, and then leans back as Jensen settles the helmet on his head.

“Helmet on, Jay,” Jensen chides.

With a sigh, Jared pulls on his own helmet, dulling the glow seeping from Jensen. His legs press up against Jensen’s and he has to resist the urge to wrap his hands around Jensen’s on the handlebars. This is Jensen’s first time driving them out on the main road, and they’re going somewhere secret.

“Ready, Jay?” Jensen asks, voice muffled. “Ready for an adventure?”

Jared’s found, over these past months, that he’d follow Jensen anywhere. And if that involves riding behind Jensen on his bike, off to find out more about Jensen’s past, it’s almost too joyful for his heart to handle.

“Ready, Jen,” he replies, beaming smile hidden under the visor.

There’s a roar, a whoop and they’re off.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the play The Land of Heart’s Desire by William Butler Yeats 
> 
> “Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,  
> For I would ride with you upon the wind,  
> Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,  
> And dance upon the mountains like a flame.
> 
> I would take the world  
> And break it into pieces in my hands  
> To see you smile watching it crumble away.”


End file.
